


Status: Single and Set Up

by ryukoishida



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Online Dating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2351402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka doesn’t have Twitter, or a Tumblr, or even an Instagram, and he definitely does not have an account on something called GayMingle. Also known as: How Haruka and Makoto meet through an online dating site as a joke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Status: Single and Set Up

**Author's Note:**

> I can't think of any clever titles; I apologize for everything.

            Haruka Nanase is not crazy about getting the latest technological gadgets, nor is he one for signing himself up on the hottest social network platforms so that he can “connect to your friends and family, whenever, wherever”, as their advertisements will have him believe.

 

            Like the majority of young people his age, however, he does have an e-mail account that he uses for work purposes (mostly freelance work sent from the agency and very occasionally commissions) and a Facebook account that he’s sure he’s never updated but he will get e-mail notifications whenever he gets tagged in his friends’ photos every so often.

 

            He doesn’t have Twitter, or a Tumblr, or even an Instagram, and he definitely does not have an account on something called GayMingle.

 

             “What the hell…” Haruka leans in closer to the monitor of his laptop, his eyes squinting as if distorting the image would somehow change the shape and meaning of the words in front of him. It doesn’t work. Someone on what clearly is an online dating site for gay singles has messaged him, but what baffles Haruka is that he’s sure he did not sign up for such a site.

 

            Five seconds pass by with Haruka continuing to stare at the message, not really taking in the meaning of the text at all, and then, “Nagisa!”

 

            He whips out his cell phone – an old Nokia model that the blond keeps teasing him about and claims that it’s practically a historical artifact – and fires a text at the culprit of this juvenile prank, promising a certain painful death to his friend’s iPhone 6 the first chance he gets.

 

            Ignoring the subsequent buzzes of his phone that signify incoming messages, Haruka turns back to the message that a person with the username kuro_neko_mako has sent him – Haruka checks the time stamp – at one in the morning last night.

 

            It isn’t a lengthy message; in fact, it’s rather abruptly short, as well as filled with grammatical and spelling errors that would make even an elementary student wince. Given the purpose of the first contact from these kind of websites should be to catch the receiver’s attention, or at least, that’s what Haruka assumes to be the case, this message is far from being impressive.

 

            He really doesn’t know much about dating websites; he barely knows anything about dating, to be honest.

 

_kuro_neko_mako says:_

_Ok but u hav rly prtty eyes. Tell me da truth r they contats???? phtoshop?? God imma regrt dis so much in da morning._

_Ps do u ever smile? i bet ur smile is beutiful. u look mad in ur phto wats up wif dat?_

 

            “‘kuro_neko_mako’, you’re drunk, aren’t you?” Haruka finds himself murmuring with a hint of amusement but mostly annoyance at the stranger’s almost endearing message.

 

            He hesitates for a short moment, the cursor hovering over the delete button that will chuck this random message, along with its ridiculously atrocious spelling errors out of his account and his mind forever. His finger is already on the verge of clicking when he sees it for just a brief second – green eyes squinting against sunlight and a brilliant smile caught unguarded on the little square profile picture – before the email vanishes for good.

 

            “Damn it,” he mutters, just a teensy bit curious as to what the rest of this guy looks like. Although he’d never be interested in the type of men who drunk-text people – even strangers on a dating site – Haruka is still a hot-blooded young man, and as much as he hates to admit it, Nagisa is absolutely right: it has been too long since his last, well, relationship? Fling? Whatever.

 

            The point is that he wishes he hasn’t deleted that quite so briskly. But before Haruka can pick up his phone to check the texts that undoubtedly Nagisa has sent, he notices that at the very top of his Gmail homepage, a new notification from the same website has just popped up.

 

            He really ought to delete that one as well and put all this nonsense behind him as nothing but a stupid joke, but the urge to see the smile again – to make sure it isn’t merely a figment of his wishful thinking or wild imagination – is stronger, and before Haruka is aware of what his hand is doing, the new message is on his screen and his eyes are scanning the text eagerly, quietly appreciating that, when sober (he admits to being under the influence of alcohol the previous night), at least this person is capable of writing a proper letter as well as anyone else.

 

_kuro_neko_mako says:_

_If you’re still reading this, let me just start off by saying how mortified I’m feeling right now after realizing what I’ve sent you last night in my drunken state (and under the bad influence/peer pressure of the man I called my best friend). I sincerely apologize and hope you’ll give me a chance to start off fresh._

_P.S. I still think you have really beautiful eyes though._

_P.P.S. Your dream as a child is to become a merman? Really? Now I’m curious._

 

            Haruka raises a brow at the last post script. Just what the hell did Nagisa write on his profile?

 

            First things first though, he clicks on the little icon-sized photo, which promptly takes him to the stranger’s profile page, the site’s obnoxious canary yellow and fire engine red layout an immediate eye sore to the artist side of him, and he has to suppress the urge to exit the webpage right away.

 

            Quickly reading through the brief but informative profile, Haruka is convinced that this man is either made-up, or he has over exaggerated everything: he’s a veterinarian, volunteers at the animal shelter, enjoys trashy romance novels and swimming in his spare time, listens to awful 90’s boy bands and hardly-heard-of indie rock groups alike, and from the few photographs he’s posted, it seems like he smiles all the time (unlike Haruka, who despises getting photos taken in the first place) and he looks good – _very_ good. Those dimples, bright, lively eyes, full lips, broad shoulders…

 

            There is no way in hell this fine specimen of a man is single and looking, much less so on a cheap-looking, unsophisticated gay dating site.

 

            ‘This must be a trick,’ Haruka concludes, but now that his curiosity has been piqued, there’s no turning back.

 

            If this guy turns out to be decent as well as being handsome, then it’s a lucky day for Haruka; if he ends up being only pretty on the outside, well, he can still appreciate what that body can offer, right? There’s no harm in that. People hook up all the time, even though Haruka would scarcely categorize himself as that type.

 

            Goodness, Nagisa’s tendency to make terrible life choices must be rubbing off on him.

 

            ‘No harm in making a new friend,’ is Haruka’s reasoning as he opens up a new message box so he can type out a reply. Nagisa is always pestering him about getting himself out there more often; he’s just taking his friend’s advice to heart for once, that’s all.

 

            He’s not taken in by those stupidly green, smiling eyes, or those lips that never seem to stop curling upwards, or that sharp jaw line he’d really like to… um. No, he’s really not. Not at all.

 

-

 

            “You’re looking nice, Makoto,” Rin whistles lowly, eyeing his friend from head to toe with a very impressed expression on his face, which only serves to make the other man blush. “Got an important date?”

 

            “Kind of, maybe, yeah,” the towering brunet scratches the back of his neck self-consciously, and he wonders if those fitting black jeans he just puts on is a good idea after all; it feels very restricting all of a sudden.

 

            “Oh, who?” Rin twists around from his position on the couch to inquire with interest. “Do I know them? Tell me!”

 

            “Remember the guy you somehow manipulated me into emailing on that dating site awhile ago?” Makoto would send him an accusatory stare but he’s way too wind up for this date – is it a date? – to do anything more than a half-hearted glare.

 

            “Hey, you just made yourself an easy target,” Rin protests, his grin shark-like and teasing, “there’s no need to put all the blame on me. Besides, it looks like you two are heading into the right direction. What’s his name again?”

 

            “Haruka,” then a pause, “Haru.”

 

            “You already have a nickname for him?” Rin shakes his head, but his grin widens. “You are sickening.”

 

            “Shut up, Rin,” Makoto picks up a light object closest to him, which happens to be a ballpoint pen, and flings it at the cackling man. Rin barely dodges it, the pen flying right by his ear and hits the opposite wall with a dull thud.

 

            “What are you trying to do – murder the friend who sets you up with your future husband – oww! Fuck. What the hell, Makoto!” The very well-aimed pad of Post-Its now sits on the couch next to Rin, the victim nursing his reddened chin in hushed curses.

 

            “If you keep flapping your big mouth, I just might,” Makoto smiles sweetly at him before turning back to his reflection on the mirror and straightening his shirt cuffs.

 

            “Okay, but seriously, all hilarity aside,” the red-haired man blinks up at him innocently and Makoto has mild suspicion that he’s about to say something inappropriate again. “Should I stay over at Sousuke’s tonight? Because, you know…”

 

            “What are you ‑‑? Why would you even assume ‑‑? No! No, Rin, there’s no need for that, but thank you for asking,” Makoto huffs out in embarrassment, turning away to hide his burning cheeks, but Rin sees with delight that the tip of his friend’s ears are bright pink.

 

            “Whatever, man. Just trying to be considerate here,” he stretches his arms over his head and pads over to their kitchen, presumably to heat up some leftovers for dinner.

 

             “Appreciate it,” Makoto answers, patting his shoulder on his way to the doorway.

 

            “Makoto!” Rin leans his upper body out from the kitchen counter that allows him to see the doorway, where the brunet is putting on his shoes.

 

            “What is it now?” Makoto sighs, not even bothering to look up.

 

            “I will text you fifteen minutes into your date in case you need an excuse to leave, okay? And if there’s anything fishy going on, I don’t care how gorgeous this Haru guy is, forget about being nice and just bail, you hear me?”

 

            When he deems his sneakers to be presentable, Makoto straightens up with a laugh, “Yes, mother.”

 

            “Why you ‑‑!” The door clicks close behind Makoto before the plastic spoon that Rin’s launched can find its intended target, and instead, it clatters to the hardwood floor with a forlorn sound.

 

-

 

            He’s checking the time and location of their meet-up on his phone for the sixth time since he stepped out of the front door when the bus halts to his stop, and Makoto follows the light stream of people off and out into the busy downtown street.

 

            It’s just a little past three in the afternoon on a Saturday, and the sidewalk is crowded with groups of bored young people looking for entertainment, families doing shopping, and couples strolling hand-in-hand.

 

            Makoto makes his way towards his destination, knowing he’ll be at least ten minutes early and that’s ten extra minutes for him to mentally prepare himself.

 

            He’s been chatting with Haruka for a little more than a month – first through formal emails, and then through more casual text messages – and Makoto still feels like he can’t quite get a grasp on this young man, whom he discovers to be an individual of a few words (and when he does voice out his thoughts, it’s with a careless frankness that borders on rudeness), and usually does his talking through artwork, if the illustrations he’d reluctantly showed him are truly indicative of his internal states.

 

            Makoto doesn’t know much about art, but even a novice like him can appreciate the bold colours, fluid lines, and concrete compositions with an aesthetic eye.

 

           It was Haruka’s idea to meet at the bookstore that’s tucked away in the back street of a usually hectic district. He said he needed to get an illustration book that recently came out, and it was high time that they should talk face to face.

 

             “No more of this texting nonsense,” Makoto read on his screen, “although thanks to you, I’ve learned to text a lot faster than I used to.” The brunet chuckled, though Haruka was not there.

 

            Though he’d never admit this to anyone, Makoto had been looking forward to meeting this stranger-not-stranger finally, and he supposes his excitement and slight nervousness are making their presence known in the form of increased heart rate and sweaty palms the closer he gets to the bookstore.

 

            He stops short when he notices the mob of blue-black hair and sharp eyes blue like the sea in the summer made familiar by the few photographs posted on Haruka’s profile Makoto may or may not have been staring at for minutes at a time for the past few weeks, and without even realizing it, he’s flushing, skin uncomfortably warm, because those pictures do not do the man justice at all.

 

            As he gets closer, Haruka turns to face him, his eyes lighting up just the slightest in recognition before he takes the few steps to close their distance. The sounds of the street is muffled in the alley, as if they have entered into an entirely different world altogether; the strands of late summer sunlight comes at a strange angle, the breeze that tousles their hair a degree too cold.

 

            “Makoto.” There is no hesitance in his voice; it’s the tone of a soft-spoken man who rarely speaks in loud volume, quiet but confident with a sort of firmness that compels listeners to take in what he has to say.

 

            “You must be Haru,” Makoto breaks into a nervous smile, offering a hand which Haruka takes without a moment’s wavering, his grasp light and warm and leaves Makoto craving more. He doesn’t smile, expression seemingly neutral, but there’s a glint in those azure eyes that reflect something akin to delight. Makoto hopes he isn’t misinterpreting that.

 

            “Shall we?” Haruka nods towards the direction of the store’s entrance, and Makoto follows the dark-haired man inside.

 

            The store is cool in the shades, the fans above their heads creak as they spin lazily while they walk carefully through the narrow pathway carved out by rows of aging wooden bookshelves.

 

            “What are we looking for?” Makoto asks in a hushed tone as his eyes flit this way and that at the numerous of titles and volumes stacked almost to the ceiling.

 

            “It should be around here,” Haruka pushes on as he winds his way through the maze of shelves with graceful ease, and though a few inches taller, Makoto has a hard time manoeuvring his towering frame around the narrow space.

 

            Makoto is positive that a date usually doesn’t involve a person chasing their partner around in a bookstore in search of something, but witnessing Haruka’s excited glimmer in those eyes and just the slightest hint of pleasure on his face when he crouches down to retrieve the book he’s been looking for makes the corner of Makoto’s lips twitch.

 

            “This is it!” He turns around with the hardcover book cradled protectively in his arms, a dimpled smile brightening up his entire face. Makoto blinks dumbly, unable to tear his gaze away or find words – too mesmerized by his upturned lips and too horrified to find that he wants to preserve this image of a happy, smiling Haruka in his mind, to make him smile like that all the time, if he can.

 

            “Makoto?” He tilts his head in question, frowning in worry.

 

             “Uh, I’m sorry,” the brunet runs shaking fingers through his hair, and trying desperately to find a change of topic. “So that’s the book you were talking about?”

 

            “Shaun Tan is one of my favourite illustrators, and this one just came out a few days ago,” Haruka hands the book over to Makoto, who flips through the pages with curiosity at first, and vibrant colours and outrageous images of sad robot creatures flash before him, filling him with wonder and a strange sense of satisfaction. He can see what Haruka has meant when he said that some picture books are not only meant for children.

 

            “Let’s go browse around the romance section?” Makoto suggests with a conspiring grin after he returns the book to Haruka. “You can always find some gems.”

 

            “By ‘gems’, do you mean terribly cheesy plot with a sappy ending, or badly written sex scenes?” Haruka wrinkles his nose in distaste but he does remember Makoto saying that he enjoys certain types of romance novels and he’s really curious since he rarely reads that genre himself.

 

            “Both, and then some,” Makoto chuckles, already walking in search for the section that usually only women in their thirties and above will roam close. “Come on.”

 

            For the next hour, the two men just quietly browse around, pointing out a title to the other if it catches their attention or amuses them into muffled laughter, causing some other customers to glare at them in irritation. Makoto sends them apologetic smiles but quickly pulls Haruka away into a more deserted part of the store in embarrassment while the shorter man softly protests but follows his lead anyway.

 

            They stop by the café that’s attached to the bookstore after Haruka pays for his purchase, and Makoto’s initial fear of running out of conversation topics turns out to be unwarranted. It’s true that Haruka’s replies are brief at times, but Makoto discovers that once he manages to find a topic that interests the man – for example, art, books, or as it happens, swimming (it turns out they were both members of their high school’s swim club and Makoto secretly laments that they might have met each other in passing without really knowing each other until now) – he can become quite talkative.

 

            It’s close to half past six when they step outside again, the shadows around them casted by buildings having turned much starker as the sun begins to set and the sky is ablaze with brilliant shades of golden orange, scarlet, and bruising purple.

 

            “Thank you for today,” Makoto says with utmost sincerity, meaning every word as he smiles gently down at the other man, the scent of coffee and chocolate from the coffee shop seem to linger around them, and it’s a comforting kind of reminder. “It’s been awhile since I had this much fun, really.”

 

            “It’s nothing,” Haruka turns his head to the side, biting his lower lip lightly and – is he blushing?

 

            Makoto can’t help it, his hand already reaching out despite his mind telling him to back the hell off because this might be a bad idea; he’s reaching out, a thumb tracing Haruka’s cheekbone, his skin giving off warmth that Makoto can only have imagined until then and he steps closer, crowding into his space and half-expecting Haruka to push him away in disgust.

 

            He doesn't. So he lowers his head to Haruka's level, green eyes glimmering in request, and he asks in a low rumble, "Haru, may I?"

 

            From this close proximity, Makoto can see the most subtle of emotions taking flight across those blue irises and the tiniest movements of the muscles on his face: surprise, apprehension, anticipation. Haruka swallows hard, and Makoto's gaze follows the line of his throat before returning to his eyes, more open and expressive than he has seen so far.

 

            Haruka closes his eyes, as if attempting to calm himself down and finally nods once, opening his eyes again with a deeper, darker hue.

 

            Carefully cradling Haruka's jaw, Makoto leans down and places a small, gentle kiss on his lips, still tasting the slight hint of cinnamon there, the scent equally distracting and compelling. It's fleeting and it's over before neither of them can get lost in the sensation: the instinctive pull that has them wanting more - more kisses that leave them breathless, more skin that's warm and flush against each other, more touches that render them weak and shivering, more smiles and laughter and tears and memories for times to come.

 

            But for now, this one, single kiss is enough.

 

            "Can I see you again soon?" Makoto steps back a little, a bashful grin lingering on his lips, and it takes Haruka a few seconds to process his question.

 

            "Yeah – yes. I'd like that," Haruka murmurs softly, returning a small smile of his own.

 

            "Good."

 

            They leave it at that as they wave goodbye to each other.

 

            It's only after Haruka's body gets swallowed up by the crowd of pedestrians in the distance that Makoto remembers to check his messages; he has felt his phone vibrating a few times in his pocket, each sounding more urgent than the next as the time in between each received text got progressively shorter.

 

            He scrolls to the first one.

 

_From: Rin Matsuoka_

_Duuude how's the date going? Is he as hot as the photos suggest?_

 

            About half an hour after the first text:

 

_From: Rin Matsuoka_

_Yo, seriously, what's happening over there? Just a yea or nay would be good._

 

            Twenty minutes after that:

 

_From: Rin Matsuoka_

_Makoto Tachibana reply to my text you ass. I'm seriously worried. Did you get eaten? Is Haru a ghoul after all?_

 

            Makoto continues to read the frantic texts from his best friend, each new one better and more hilarious than the previous one until he hits the most recent message.

 

_From: Rin Matsuoka_

_I'm calling your parents if you don't reply in the next ten minutes. You have been warned._

 

            Makoto shakes his head fondly as he starts a new text.

 

_To: Rin Matsuoka_

_Stop being such a drama queen, Rin. I'm fine, and so is Haru. Actually, we're more than fine._

_P.S. Have you been watching too much anime again? Your imagination is getting out of hand._

 

            When a new text comes in less than five seconds after he has sent his reply, Makoto doesn't bother to read it. He will humour Rin's inquisition once he gets home, but for now he just wants to enjoy the soft glow of twilight against his skin, the image of Haruka flustered and smiling fresh in his mind until the next time they meet.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! There you go! When I was writing the bookstore date, the first thing that popped into my head was how Kaneki from Tokyo Ghoul got attacked because he went on a bookstore date with Rize, and I just HAD to add that reference; I’m really sorry. I’m still taking requests and prompts so please head over here for a list of super random AUs and hit my Ask box!


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